


Dreams and Visions

by jessebee



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode V: Empire Strikes Back, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Arguing, Cuddling & Snuggling, Despair, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, Insecurity, M/M, Major Character Injury, Millennium Falcon - Freeform, Multi, Past Violence, Polyamorous Character, Rescue, Reunions, Separations, The Force
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-02
Updated: 2017-01-16
Packaged: 2018-07-28 13:53:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 17,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7643143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessebee/pseuds/jessebee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scenes from <strike>AUs I will never write</strike>  <strike>an AU I am writing, apparently</strike> make that an AU I have written.  Oops.</p><p>EDIT 1.5.17   Chapters have been renumbered to accomodate a new Chapter Two.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Meaning of the Vision

Empire Strikes Back - The one where Luke figures out the family secret himself from the clue of Yoda's “tree of evil”, arrives on Bespin earlier, and does something they may all regret.  Prompt from ribbonedcuriosa:  “I will knock you on your ass if you even think about it.”

*

“Not if you want me,” Luke says, his lightsaber's blade a blue beacon in the carbonite chamber's hellish red-orange light. “I'll make you a deal, Lord Vader. I will come to you if all of them – _including_ _Han_ – are set free to leave this city and this planet.”

“Luke, _**no**_!” Leia shouts. Han would shout too, but he can't seem to get any air.

“You are bold, Skywalker,” Vader says, and damned if the sick bastard doesn't almost sound impressed. “You have nothing to bargain with, and Captain Solo is promised to this – bounty hunter.”

“ _Then unpromise him.”_ Luke's voice is raw. “And I have more than you think. I know why you want me, because _I know who you are.”_ His words ring through the chamber, sharp as the acrid steams of the waiting freeze unit. “What is my free surrender worth to you?”

_No. No, no no_ – Fury rips through Han, finally freeing his voice. “Kid, don't you dare do this!” he roars. “You can't – !”

“Of course I can.”

“Luke –!”

“Han, shut up,” Luke snaps, but there's no real sting in the words, and he doesn't look away from the Sith Lord. “Well?”

Nobody moves.

“Of your own free will,” Vader says, at last.

Luke is straight and unflinching, a slender strong figure like a flame pitting itself against the darkness of that black armor. “Yes.”

Vader breathes, obscenely, in and out, in and out. In and out. “Done.”

The blue blade of Luke's 'saber dies.

“ _Dammit, Luke!”_ Han shouts as horror washes him, shaking him head to foot. He's nearly drowned out by Leia's own cry and Chewie's roar of protest.

“Escort them all to Solo's ship,” Vader says, “and release Solo there.”

Boba Fett jerks forward. “We had a deal, Vader!”

“And I am changing it, bounty hunter.” Distaste drips on the title, clear even through the mask's distortion. “You will receive from the Empire the credits you would have gotten for Solo's body. I suggest that you be pleased with my generosity.”

“We had a deal!” Fett shouts again, and raises his gun.

Almost too fast to follow, Vader's hand flicks out and Fett is thrown through the air to slam against the chamber's opposite wall with a sickening crack. His body slides to the floor in a twisted heap.

But Han only has eyes for Luke as his friend walks toward him, calm and unimpeded, down the steps and across the chamber floor. Leia launches herself at him and Luke's arm goes around her, and he turns his face into her hair for a moment before he moves the final few steps and takes Han's hand in his.

Han grips back hard and wishes more than anything that his hands and arms were free so he could _smack some sense_ into his beautiful, completely insane best friend. “ _You kriffin' idiot!”_ he hisses as Luke and Leia both lean into him, warm and sweaty and faintly trembling.

Han turns his face into Luke's tangled blond hair. “'m gonna knock you flat on your farmboy ass for this, I swear I will! What the _hells_ have you done?!”

“What I had to,” Luke murmurs against his neck.

“You shouldn't have come,” Leia grits out, and she's holding her scream in by her fingernails, Han can tell.

“Of course I should have. I love you.”

“Luke – ”

Luke straightens away enough to look Han full in the eyes. And Han's aware of white on the edges of his vision, the stormtroopers are moving in, but all he can see is blue.

“I love you,” Luke repeats, as soft and steady as if it's only he and Han in the room. “I'll always come for you.” And he untangles their fingers and puts his hand behind Han's head and yanks him down, and kisses him.

It's like being shoved into a black hole and somehow coming out intact, except that everything's been put back together from a different angle. After the first shocked, eternal moment passes Han can't do anything else _**but**_ kiss him back, and kiss him and kiss him until hard hands land on his arms and pull them apart. And he knows, somehow, that Luke's taste will be forever in his mouth.

“Escort them to Solo's ship,” Vader repeats, emotionless.

Han manages a final look back as he and Leia and Chewie are marched out, and Luke's gaze stays locked with his until the door snaps closed between them.

Han stumbles, his knees threatening to go as his heart crashes into his boots. He's been such an incredibly blind, utterly godsbedamned fool.

 


	2. A Break For Freedom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Luke's on that ship.”

 

Han's caught, one arm grabbed by Chewie despite his copilot's being cuffed as well, and Leia gets under the other, and he manages to keep walking, one foot in front of the other. The only sound is that of their feet against the floors. They walk forever, and eventually Han realizes that Leia hasn't said a word, not one, since they left the carbonite chamber. Which might mean that he's either in for a royal inquisition, complete with thumbscrews, once they're alone, or that she's never going to speak to him again. Right now the spot in his chest where his heart should be hurts so damn badly, he really doesn't care which one happens.

A million years later Han recognizes the corridor. They are nearly at the pad where they'd landed the _Falcon_. One more turn and their group meets a contingent of Cloud City guards, ranged in front of the door to the landing deck. They stand aside and Lando's aide keys the door. Han looks through and his heart restarts with a painful jerk because yes, there is the _Falcon_ , precisely where she is supposed to be.

The aide – Han's forgotten his name – turns to the lead 'trooper. “You will release Captain Solo and his companions now,” he says, expressionless as a droid.

“Per Lord Vader's agreement, yes,” the trooper replies, bored and precise.

The thrice-damned cuffs are finally removed and the arm restraints as well. Han flexes his arms and touches his right wrist. He’d rubbed the skin raw fighting the cuffs and hadn’t even noticed, that small pain lost under the bigger ones from the torture chamber. He hears the soft click as the trooper removes Chewie's bindings as well, and then the ‘trooper steps back to head his squad of six.

“Code Force Seven,” says Lando's aide.

Instantly the Cloud City guards, more than twice the number of stormtroopers, have the Imperials surrounded and disarmed. Han's jaw drops and his adrenaline fires, waking him up all over, as he's once more got a weapon in his hands. “All right, what is this?” he demands.

“Baron Calrissian's orders,” the aide says, as the trooper are marched off, “were always to get you away safely once we were able to do so.”

“We're not leaving without our friend,” Leia says flatly, and the blaster in her hands is aimed squarely at the aide's chest.

“No, Highness,” the aide says, apparently unperturbed. “That is why the Baron is currently attempting to rescue him.”

“He's _what?_ ” Han snaps.

 

*

 

The _Millennium_ _Falcon_ goes a wild dance with Bespin's winds as Han fights their way down the city's underside, looking for the back-door in. The aide – Lobot, Threepio had fussily informed him – had said it was there and Han believed it – as much as he'd believe anything coming from a denizen of Cloud City – because that much about his “old buddy” could not have changed: Lando _always_ has a back-door.

More ships in the atmosphere now than the _Falcon,_ more than they'd seen on their approach and escort in to Cloud City, and flying fast. Somebody must've told them the Empire'd come knocking. Flying badly too, as another little craft zips by and dodges the bigger _Falcon_ in a move that probably jars the pilot's teeth.

<Fleeing,> Chewie hoots.

“'n not much longer if they don't fly better 'n that,” Han growls back, holding steady as another ship panics by them on the port side. _Come_ _ **on**_ _, Lando, where's the damn_ _entrance_ _to_ _–_

“Luke.”

A whisper that Han just barely catches but he whips around anyway, and winces as most everything inside him protests. “What?”

Behind him Leia's wearing a million parsec stare, her eyes enormous, lips parted and forming Luke's name again even as Han watches –

“Leia? What – ”

“ _Luke_.” Her gaze snaps back and lasers in on Han. “I know where he is.”

“Well, _yeah_ , that's why we're going back – ”

“He's not up there, they're in a cloud-car but it's damaged! They can't – ”

What the – ? “ _They?_ Who's – ”

“ _There's no time,_ we've got to get to them before they drop too far!” The next second she's practically in Han's lap, reaching for the stick.

“Leia!”

“Han, _please!”_ And that stops him dead as her fingers actually wrap over his on the controls.

<She smells true,> Chewie barks.

Bloody Sith hells, but Han can't argue with that.

He relaxes his grip, and gets a swift, hard kiss on the cheek for it as Leia banks them and heads away from the city's underside and toward the separate mining platform Han had noticed on their way in to the city. Or no, not toward it – beneath it, and it's now that Han sees the gas mining apparatus dangling below the platform and further below, a smaller platform of some kind, maybe maintenance or something? And half-way there, the shape of a twin-pod cloud car.

“There. Luke's on that ship.” Not a scrap of doubt in Leia's voice as she puts the _Falcon_ into a steep dive, and Han's going to worry _later_ about how the fuck she knows something she can't possible know.

“I see it. Lemme have the stick,” Han says and this time Leia doesn't argue, now that she's gotten him where she wants him. “They ain't flying so much as they're falling. Chewie, get the mag grips ready, we'll have to get under 'em, no way that thing'll be able to dock us.”

“Under them?” Leia says as Chewie barks agreement and bolts out of the cockpit.

“Ceiling hatch in the portside corridor,” Han explains automatically, all his attention on reaching the smaller craft and matching her descent so he can get the _Falcon_ beneath her.

“You're going to – catch it? On _top_ of us?”Leia exclaims, falling into the copilot's chair. “ _How?”_

“Real careful-like.” The cloud car's not huge but the _Falcon's_ got a nice sensor dish and some pretty expensive deflector equipment that Han would prefer to keep attached in its current configuration, thank you very much.

He reaches the car's level and shoots a quick flash of forward lights past the left pod where the pilot should be, to get their attention without getting a blaster cannon burst too in the process. A dark figure in the pod turns and Han hits the comm. “You flying the cloud car, don't suppose you want a lift?”

“Well, only if you've got nothing better to do.” That's not Luke – the voice is deeper, hoarse and familiar: Lando Calrissian.

Han's shoulders go to steel, because if Luke's not piloting – “Just you in there?”

“Me and a friend who'd really love to see your med-bay, the quicker the better. How about it?”

Kriffing _**hell**_. “Your friend speak?” Han asks, locking eyes with Leia.

“More … or less.” Luke’s voice.

Leia slumps back in her seat. Han blows out a hard breath that does sweet fuck-all for his tension, because the kid sounds like death on toast. “I'm getting under you; slow your descent.”

“If I could, I would,” Lando says, probably through his teeth. “Repulsor’s gone and the engine’s going.”

Han grimaces, because that's just what he'd figured. “We'll get you with the mag grips but they won't hold long. You're gonna have to move fast,” he says as he starts to maneuver beneath the ailing cloud-car.

“Probably not as fast as we'd like, but – ”

“Just move, Chewie'll pull you in,” Han snaps, refusing to think about what'll happen if they aren't fast enough, because it _won't_ _happen_. “Keep an eye out for Imps, wouldja? I got my hands full with this,” he says to Leia before he leans toward the ship's internal comm. “Chewie, gimme the birdseye view, pal, it's gonna be close.”

Chewie's bark of acknowledgment echoes back and the telltale for the ceiling hatch engaging flashes on the console, but all of Han's focus zeroes in on flying, on _feeling_ his baby into position, the squat orange pods of the cloud-car looming through the cockpit views, the _Falcon_ a force-field to catch his friends, closer, closer –

– Chewie barking position, instructions, closer –

– _there_. Jarring thump as the car makes contact, Leia's gasp, and then the ear-splitting squeal of metal sliding on metal as the winds try to tear them back apart and Han just fucking _knew_ the mag grips wouldn't be enough. “Chewie, _go!”_

Han jousts with the atmosphere, the stick and rudders grafts of his own hands and feet, playing the thrusters to keep the cloud-car pressed against the _Falcon's_ back. His chest aches and his arms are on fire but he'll keep this unholy union solid for as long as it takes. Chewie's swearing in untranslatable Shriiwook and Lando's shouting, barely audible over the wind-howl through the comm, and Leia's checking the views and rear sensors in rapid repeats, bracing herself white-knuckled as the ship shudders around them.

“C'mon, c'mon – ” Han's barely aware of muttering, and his baby shrieks again as the cloud-car shifts, scraping her hull, “Chewie _c'mon_ , we're on a deadline here – ”

“TIE patrol up by the city,” Leia raps out, “about point 4, don't think they've seen us yet – ”

“ _Chewie – !”_

 _< Go!>_ his partner roars.

Han flips the  _Falcon_ down and  around. Th e cloud-car  tumbles away like the useless trash it's become  and Han's not thinking about  new  scrapes and gouges , just about avoiding the patrol Leia 's spotted and getting them all the krif out of here in one piece. 

Commotion behind him through the open cockpit door, human and Wookie and maybe droid but Han barely hears it, focused on getting as much distance as possible between them and the Imps, punching up the sequence and coordinates for lightspeed, until –

“Thanks, pal,” and Han jerks his head around to see Lando framed in the doorway, dirty and windblown.

“Where's Luke?” Leia snaps, her tone sharp enough to gut.

“Chewie's got – whoa!” Lando says as Leia darts past him in a move that says she's going straight through him if he doesn't shift fast enough. “What the –? ”

“Siddown and frikkin' watch for Imps if you're staying, otherwise shut the hells up!” Han snarls.

“You know, just one word of thanks'd be nice, after what I – ”

That tears it. _“What you did?!”_ Han whips one arm out and shoves Lando into a seat. “Played patsy for the Empire? Set me 'n Leia up as bait for Vader to get to Luke? _That_ what you did?”

“I had no choice!”

“Heard that song before, 'pal'! Play me one with a tune I can whistle!”

“Han – ”

Chewbacca's snarl cuts Lando off, wordless and unfriendly as the Wookie pushes past to take the copilot's chair. Han grins blackly as he checks the nav for jump coordinates. “Don't kill him yet, Chewie, plenty of time after we get into hyperspace. _If_ he got the kriffin' drive fixed.”

“It's fixed, my people swore they fixed it.” And he sounded sincere, but then that was Lando.

“Yeah, well, we'll find out, won't we. Chewie, get ready to cut over.”

“It's fixed! You'll see, just – ”

Han ignores him, leans at the internal comm. “Hold on, we're going to lightspeed – now!” and triggers the drive – which whines up –

– and dies.

“What the – ?”

“ _Lando!!”_

“It's not my fault!” Lando shouts. “It was fixed, they told me it was fixed!”

<Incoming!> C hewie howls. A split second later the  _Falcon_ lurches as green  laser fire streaks past the views.

“Yeah, you fixed us!” Han shouts back as he puts full power to the deflectors and banks hard. The ship shudders again. “And you'll go down with us too and I'll die happy for that, at least!”

“Like hells we will!” Lando grabs for the remote laser cannon controls.

Spitting curses, Chewie bolts the cockpit again as Lando opens fire. Chewie's undoubtedly making for the hyperdrive access, for all the good it's going to do, but his partner has worked miracles before.

Han spares a moment to hope that Leia and Luke are hanging on tight to something as he kicks into a steep dive and wrenching turn, because it does not end here, dammit. No matter what he's just said to Lando, things are _not_ gonna end like this. Not before he gets the chance to kiss Luke one more time.

He dodges and twists, flips and doubles back, and Lando laughs in triumph as he takes out a TIE fighter, but its wingman rocks the freighter with a dead-on shot that the deflectors only just shunt away. Fire pummels the cockpit and Han can't stop his flinch, his vision momentarily whiting out.

He's pulling every trick he can, gains a few moments breathing room by plunging into Bespin's dense clouds, roiling with gods-only-know what kinds of gases. “Chewie!”

A frustrated Wookie roar over the comm, followed by the slam of metal against metal, quite possibly his partner taking out his temper on the equipment. The grind of Han's teeth is lost in Lando's shout as he scores again but there's another flight of TIEs on the scanner now and it won't be the last because that effin' Star Destroyer high above will be rotten with them like flesh-slugs on a dead nerf –

And out of nowhere comes the most beautiful sound in the galaxy – the whine of a hyperdrive engine.

Han's shoved back hard into his seat as the _Falcon_ bolts forward, charging into hyperspace, and Sith-fucking- _ **spit**_ but those twisting lights have never looked so good.

“He did it! Chewie, you did it!” Lando shouts at the comm pick-up.

“I beg your pardon, Baron-Administrator, but that is incorrect,” says Threepio, the droid's tone as gratingly officious as ever. “It seems that the ship's hyperdrive had been deactivated by order of the Empire, which R2 learned about from the Cloud City central computer. Therefor, R2 merely brought the drive back on-line. A simple problem to fix, really.”

Han snorts, and closes his eyes. Gods, but he hurts. “Simple. Of course.”

“I told you,” Lando said, “didn't I tell you? My people – ”

“Lando.”

“What?”

Han opens his eyes, turns his head, and aims his deadliest glare in Lando's direction. “Shut. Up.”

 

*

 


	3. Beginning of the aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It wasn't supposed to happen like this...

Leia finds him much later, during ship's “night,” by the ev-med bunk. Han is sitting on the floor, wedged into the corner formed by the bunk and the medi-unit, like he's listening to it pulse out Luke's heartbeat, faint but steady. Even sitting, he's about tall enough that he could look over the edge of the bunk and see its occupant, or he could if his eyes were open.

He's a mess, but then Leia doesn't think she's much better. He's got a blanket of some sort around his shoulders but he's still in the same clothes he was tortured in, his right thigh still bare of both holster and weapon. He looks nearly as wrecked as Luke does but the rest of his injuries are on the inside – a neural disrupter doesn't leave gashes that you can slap bacta packs on.

Her steps are light but Han's eyes flick open anyway at her approach, only to fall closed again. She leans over him to check the medi-unit's readings, then looks at Luke. His eyes are closed too, in sleep or unconsciousness, and his chest moves with regular breaths beneath the ugly brown blanket. His color is marginally better and the pain lines are a fraction less deep, but they're still carved sharply into his face. Leia sets her teeth and checks the readings on the cuff unit covering the end of Luke's right arm, but they've not changed since she got the thing on him.

She shifts the blanket up over it and reaches to touch Luke's face instead, smoothing strands of dirty hair back off of his forehead. Light catches on the marks on his face, both the faint remnants of the wampa's attack and the brand new ones, fresh and red and livid, and Leia's breath catches as well, hard enough to be audible because it _hurts, dammit_ , like something sharp in her chest – it _hurts_ to see Luke like this –

“'ve made him as comfortable as I can,” Han says, low and hoarse, from somewhere around Leia's knees. “Who's on the stick?”

She takes a careful step backward and looks down at him, and takes a moment to be blackly amused that for once, she actually is looking down. “Lando, right now. Chewie's watching him.”

The man at her feet nods once, tiredly.

“Are you okay?” Leia asks quietly. And really, that's a pretty stupid question, all things considered. None of them are “okay.” She's not even sure she remembers what that feels like.

Han's eyes flutter open. Their gray-hazel color is rimmed with the red of fatigue and possibly something else, but they catch and hold hers nonetheless. “I never meant to hurt you,” he whispers. And there it is, first shot, right at the heart of the bantha in the room, and she's always said he's got courage where it counts. “I never – I, I didn't know.”

And Leia believes him. Because Han is a consummate and accomplished liar but in the three years she's known him he has never lied directly to _her_ , or to Luke either. Evaded like hell and sometimes danced a wild jig with the truth, certainly – but never lied.

It ought to hurt more than it does, but she's too tired for that. She probably ought to be angry at him too – it seems like anger is her default setting these days anyway – but she hasn't got the energy for that, either. Instead she lets herself fold down onto the floor in front of him, her right shoulder pressing against the base of the med-bunk, and puts her left hand on his knee.

Han covers it with his own, larger one. His face is loose and open, an expression she's seen only twice before that she recalls: looking at her in the guest quarters on Cloud City; and watching Luke float, half-dead, in that bacta tank on Hoth.

This – perhaps, finally – may be the real Han, the man beneath the thick layers of attitude he wears like armor.

“It was like – ” Han shakes his head, slowly. “I don't know, like – revelation, or somethin'. Suddenly I'm seeing – him, me – and wonderin' how I never saw it before.” His bewilderment is all too real and it's painful to watch, and Leia has to close her eyes. Han's next words snap them right back open.

“I never thought I'd ever really love one person, never mind two. But here you both are.”

Leia stares at him, feeling her mouth fall open, and it's only then, for some reason, that she remembers: Han is Corellian.

“ _Corellians tend to spread out in big messy families,”_ she hears her father saying, somewhere long ago. Plural relationships are far more common on Corellia than on any other primarily-human world that she knows of, even under the disapproving, hypocritical eye of the Empire.

“I meant it, y'know – with you,” Han says, and his voice grates like he's barely holding in something vast behind it. He squeezes her hand. “I wasn't chasing you for something to do. I meant every word of it and I still do. I don't wanna be without you.” He swallows, and his gaze drops. “But I'm pretty sure I _can't_ be without him.

“I know plurals ain't an Alderaani thing. But … “

Emotions collide in Leia's throat in a messy, aching tangle. Nothing in her own life and certainly nothing she ever saw in her parents' marriage prepared her for anything like this. Theirs was a quiet love, sweet and easy and kind, much like what she feels for Luke. But this thing with Han – this wild, painful, exhilarating flight – is this love as well?

Leia swallows, and turns her hand beneath Han's and twines their fingers, and gives him the only answer she has right now. “I don't know, Han,” she says, watching as his eyes come back to hers. “I truly don't know. I've never thought about something like this, never considered – us, all of us, this way. I'm not saying no, but – I can't – say yes, now. “ She takes a deep breath. “Can you wait?”

It takes a minute, but a curve begins to pick slowly at Han's mouth until it shapes into a pale but passable version of his usual crooked grin. “Can we cuddle in the meantime?”

The small start of laughter she makes surprises her, because it feels like it's been forever since she last did that. “Do you think Luke will mind?” she teases.

Han's smile widens a little and he shrugs one shoulder. “Can ask him when he wakes up.”

“ c'n ask now, if y' want,” says a raspy voice from somewhere above them.

 

_[[quote about Corellian families lifted straight from Cara Loup, who will hopefully forgive me.]]_

 


	4. Sleeper, Awake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Don' know what I thought.”

 

Han's expression is the most perfect blend of joy and panic Leia's ever witnessed. He lets go of her hand and scrambles up onto his knees, blanket falling away, and puts both hands on the edge of the bunk. “You're _supposed_ to be asleep.”

“Was,” Luke says in a rough half-whisper, as Leia climbs to her feet. “Think 'm done for now. 'sides, 's noisy, people talkin'.”

“Oh, ha-ha.” Han's voice is incredibly tender, all at odds with his words, and he curves long fingers around the top of Luke's head in a swift caress. “Shut up a minute, lemme see what we've got that you can drink.” He gets all the way to his feet and starts rummaging through various of the overhead compartments by the foot of the bunk.

Leia leans in close and braces her arm above Luke's head. “Hey,” she says softly, smiling. “You back with us this time?”

His crystal-blue eyes are still bloodshot, but clear and aware now. Luke moves his left arm from beneath the blanket and reaches up and pulls her close, and the fine tremor that runs through him shivers through her as well. He smells like blood and ozone and fire, but beneath all that, like himself – Luke, familiar and so dear, and suddenly Leia is fighting the tears that she utterly refused to give in to earlier on.

“'m fine. 're you okay?” Luke murmurs into her ear.

And that's just so damn _typical_ of him that it helps her regain her composure. “You're not fine,” she says, ignoring his question as she pulls back to glare at him. “You're really not, but you will be.”

He's got the nerve to smile at her for that, but it fades as he studies her face. His hand has slipped down her arm, and now he lays it over hers where she's rested it on his blanket. “'m sorry,” he whispers.

Leia blinks. “For what? Scaring me half to death? Trying to – ” and she has to take a breath “– to get yourself killed in our place?”

Luke rolls his head against the pillow. “He didn' want t' kill me.”

“Oh, no? Just – ” _what, take you apart piece by piece?_ But she can't go there, can't say that, not now, not yet. It's all still a little too close for black humor. “You've nothing to be sorry for.”

Luke's gaze goes distant – or no, he's just looking past her, she realizes as she hears Han's steps approach. She hadn't realized he'd left. “Thought it wouldn't – ” Luke closes his eyes, and his lashes look like bruises against his skin. “Don' know what I thought.”

“Hey, kid,” Han says, and Leia shelves her confusion for the moment and looks up as Han crowds in next to her, a cup in one hand. “No liqui-paks left, so we're gonna have to try it the old-fashioned way. I've put painkiller in, too, you're due for another, so take it slow. Think you can sit up?”

Luke gives him a sour look that's actually extremely reassuring. “'m not fragile, Han.”

Han's expression very clearly says that he'll believe that when he sees it. Leia takes charge of the cup and perches on the edge of the med-bunk as Han gets his arm behind Luke's shoulders and helps him sit upright, careful not to smack his head on the bunk's low overhang.

Leia rests one hand on Luke's leg, just above his knee, and hands him the cup, but keeps her other hand ready, just in case, as he samples the contents. She sees from the corner of her eye Han doing the exact same thing from where he's now crouched on his heels, close to the bunk as he can get. This is one of the Rebellion's best fighters, their top pilot – _a Jedi knight_ – and she and Han are acting like they're a couple of katkins and Luke is their only kit.

They're all going to have a good laugh about this, one day. Maybe.

Luke wrinkles his nose at the first sip, probably at the taste. But he drinks, slowly, and Leia watches him and watches Han watching as well, with a nervous kind of energy showing through his fatigue. The only other real sound is the _Falcon's_ hyperdrive thrumming comfortingly on the edge of her hearing, a faint constant vibration through the body of the old freighter. One of the few constants of her life these days, in fact, and it almost feels like a kind of home, although she'll be damned if she'll ever let on to Han about that.

Eventually Luke sits up a little straighter and rests the cup in his lap, and closes his eyes.

“Done?” Leia asks, and Luke makes a noise, not quite an answer, and lets go of the cup when she wraps her fingers around it. A bit of liquid still sloshes in the bottom.

Luke breathes, in and out, slow and deliberate, as if he's bracing himself. He opens his eyes and looks straight at her, and she can't read his expression at all. Then he turns his head and looks at Han. “Thanks,” he says, and his voice is still soft but stronger than before.

“Better?” Han asks.

“Yeah.”

“Good,” Han says tightly, and he comes up on both knees. “So let's get this out of the way first, before anything else, all right?” And he frames Luke's face in both hands and leans up and in, and kisses him.

The sound Luke makes is as close to sheer, raw relief as Leia's ever heard. His hand comes up to wrap around Han's wrist and he shifts somehow closer and so does Han, and Leia looks down at the cup she's still holding and turns away to place it on the floor, because no matter how all of this – this relationship, everything – eventually turns out? This moment, here and now, is just between the two of them.

When she can look again, they've only moved apart far enough to lean together, foreheads touching. “Got it?” Han asks, and his voice is thick. “Do I need to say it again?”

The smile that curves Luke's mouth is blinding. “You can say it as many times as you want.”

Han lets out a long sigh. “Good,” he says again. “That's – good.” He straightens then and so does Luke, hands still clasped. “Now,” he says, and Leia straightens too at the shift in his tone. “You wanna tell me, tell us, just exactly what in _all_ _nine_ _hells_ you thought you were doing?”

 


	5. Revelation, Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “ – and he's known by a different name now.”

 

Luke's gaze slides away, and his mouth tightens. “What I had to.”

Han's eyes narrow. “But you knew what was goin' on. You _knew_ it was a trap.”

“Yes.”

“And you walked _right into it_. _Alone_.”

“It wasn't a choice – ”

“Committing _suicide_ is _always a choice!_ ”

“ _ **Letting you both die wasn't!!** ”_ Luke shouts, nearly deafening in the tiny space as he twists around to glare at Han. “And you _would_ _have_ – he _would have killed you_ if I hadn't come!”

“So you'll charge in and let 'em _**kill you instead?!**_ ” Han shouts back, and his free hand is in the air, pointing at Luke, practically jabbing him in the chest. Leia hears the pain bleeding out of his voice.

“ _ **No**_ ,” Luke snaps out, quick and sharp. And stops, and squeezes his eyes shut. “ _No_ ,” he repeats after a shaky breath. “That was the point. Vader _didn't_ want to kill me unless he had to.”

That brings Han up short. And Leia abruptly remembers the earlier conversation.

“You said that before, Luke,” she cuts in before whatever Han's next words are can tumble out. “That Vader didn't want you dead. Why not? How can you _know_ that?”

Luke tenses further, his leg muscles tightening beneath Leia's hand. She senses more than sees Han shift and shakes her head at him to stay still, and watches – _feels_ – Luke battle silently with whatever it is.

Because something's changed. Something happened to Luke in those weeks on Dagobah, while she and Han were fighting their way toward Cloud City. Something terrifying happened and it's changed Luke in some deep, fundamental way, and she has no clue how she knows this and that is even more terrifying because _she's_ not a Jedi and she _doesn't_ have the Force.

But she _heard_ him earlier, she'll swear to that. And she _feels_ him now.

“Luke?” Han says, low and tight, like he's barely holding on to his temper.

Just his name, but it seems that's enough to break Luke's deadlock. “You remember what I told you about – my father?”

Han's eyebrows go up. “Anakin Skywalker. Died before you were born, killed by that unholy bastard back there. Jedi Knight, general, fought in the Clone Wars, Kenobi told you. You find out different?”

“No.” Luke shakes his head. “No, that's right. As far as it goes.”

Suddenly Leia's having trouble breathing, premonition sitting like a bantha on her chest.

“And – what's that mean?” Han asks, confusion overtaking anger for the moment.

Luke's head comes up and his chest expands on a deep breath, and his face smooths out, as if he's pulled calm into and around himself like a physical thing. “It means, that whether he died or not depends on one's 'point of view'.” The last words have a hard edge to them. “But physically, no – he didn't die,” Luke says quietly. His eyes open and catch Leia's, a sharp burn like clear blue flame before he turns to face Han. “He turned.”

 _No_.

“He was 'seduced,' as my teachers put it, by the Dark Side of the Force – ”

– _oh no, no, **no** – _

“ – and he's known by a different name now.”

Frozen, Leia still sees the exact moment that Han gets it. Hazel eyes go wide and Han's breath catches with an audible gasp. None of them move.

“ _Vader_ ,” Han finally grinds out. “Is your – your _father_. Your _father_ did that to you.” The “that” doesn't need defining.

Luke nods, just once.

Leia can't describe the look that contorts Han's face as anything other than fury. He lets go of Luke's hand and backs slowly to his feet, then whips around and stalks out.

A barely audible sound, and Luke folds in on himself in slow motion, curling around his injury, his calm fracturing like fifth-rate transparisteel.

Leia still can't move, snared in utter disbelief that someone so completely wonderful could possibly ever have come from something so utterly heinous, until Luke makes another sound – a ragged, dragging breath – and her paralysis breaks.

She scoots forward with an awkward jerk, wraps herself around him and holds him as tightly as she can. Luke is shaking and she should say something and she can't, there isn't anything, she has no clue what she herself is feeling at this moment, nevermind what can be said?

What's the protocol for finding out that your best friend, a man you dearly love, is the son of the most reviled, murderous being in the galaxy?

What words to soften the blow to a man whose just-gained love has rejected him?

One thing she does know: she's going to kill Han for this. Very slowly.

Something shatters, elsewhere in the ship.

Chewie calls out.

A man's voice answers.

Maybe it's Han, maybe it's Lando's; Leia can't be bothered right now to care. There's only the distress of the man in her arms to care about; she'll deal with her own pain later, when the numb shock wears off …

Footsteps. A sharp intake of breath.

And it is Han's voice this time, swearing soft and unbelievably obscene and getting closer until she looks up and he's right there, reaching out –

“Aw, kid – ”

“ _Get away from him!”_ Leia hisses, and Han jerks to a halt, his jaw dropping. Oh, she's not numb anymore. _“You've said damn-well enough!”_

“What – ?”

“Leia.” Luke's voice, muffled and shaky, nonetheless stops them both. He straightens up and away from her, and his face is ravaged, but calm. “It's all right.”

“It is _not all right!_ ”

“Aw, Luke, no,” Han breathes out. He drops to his knees, crowding the edge of the bunk. “Hells, _no_ , kid, that wasn't – Luke, that wasn't at _you_.” His face looks awful, tight and worn, and he lays a hand, hesitantly, on Luke's arm. Leia wants to slap it away. “I'm madder 'n hell at _him_ , d'ya see that? But you know how I am, it was go hit something or blast somethin' and that second thing ain't good for the hull.”

Luke looks at him. “I wouldn't blame you if you – ”

“Stop,” Han says unsteadily, and points a finger at him. “Stop that right now. I'm not goin' _anywhere_.”

And Luke studies him, and doesn't quite smile, but something in his face starts to come back to life. “You're an idiot, you know that, right?”

Han closes his eyes for a moment, and all of his tension seems to run out at once. “Yeah, sometimes.”

“Most of the time,” Leia growls, because Luke has always been too generous.

“Leia – ”

“No,” Han says, “'s okay, I – maybe I deserve that. It was a shock and I'm tired and it's been a kriffin' long few days – ”

 _Weeks_ , Leia thinks.

“ – but I coulda – handled that a lot better.”

Leia's eyebrows go up. “That almost sounds like an apology.”

“No,” Han repeats, and looks straight at her this time. “That _is_ an apology.”

Leia looks back at him hard, his bruised face and red-rimmed eyes and still almost no trace of his normal cocky self. Still just – Han. And she doesn't want to forgive him, but then –

If Luke can get by it …

But then Luke is frequently too good to be real, as well as too generous.

And maybe she's too tired to make much sense right now.

“You need to go get some actual sleep, flyboy,” she says, grudgingly, as much acceptance as she can offer at the moment. Han's expression says he gets it for what it is, and he'll take what he can get. “It should be you on the stick when we reach the fleet. Most of them don't know Shriiwook and they certainly don't know Lando.”

Han's mouth quirks but it looks self-mocking, and – wistful? “Don't suppose I can get some company?” And he's looking at both of them.

“Depends.” Luke tilts his head. “Is your bunk any more comfortable than this thing?”

Han's eyes light with a quiet, startled kind of joy. “A lot more, I promise you that. But I – don't know that you really should – ”

“Han.” There's the start of a real smile on Luke's face. He puts his hand over Han's and squeezes. “I can rest anywhere. Not fragile, remember? So maybe quit while you're ahead?”

And there's a smile starting on Han's mouth too, as he ducks his head. “Yeah, okay.” Then he looks at her. “Leia?”

She's tempted, she's surprised to find, she actually is; and she knows all that's going to happen in Han's cabin is sleep, with or without her. But it's much too soon, in more ways than one. “Not now,” she says softly. “But maybe I'll come tuck you both in.”

 

 


	6. Revelation, Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Soon as we get you patched up, I'm still kickin' your ass.”  
>  _(edited 9.4.16)_

 

 

Han has to look in on Chewie and Lando first, because exhausted or not, it's still his ship, dammit. Chewie has it covered, of course, and informs him in no uncertain terms that he looks like _pudu_ and would he please go lay down before he falls over and Chewie has to carry him? Lando seconds that but Han's a little ways off yet from forgiving his old buddy for his part in the whole debacle, so that vote doesn't count.

When he gets to his cabin, Luke is flat on his back on the bunk, with the old brown blanket from the medi-bunk arranged over him, and Leia is nowhere in sight. Han hesitates, but it's clear Luke isn't isn't asleep when his head turns, tired blue eyes tracking Han's movements.

Han sits a hip on the side of his bunk. "Hey." And finds the rest of whatever words he had have fled, because he's looking at Luke in his bed. Battered, wounded, and exhausted, but still – in Han's bed. Han puts his hand on Luke's arm because he suddenly has to.

"How long to base?" Luke asks, his voice gravelly.

"About 34 hours, more or less."

Luke nods and his eyes fall shut, and for some reason it's only now that the condition of Luke's clothing registers: ripped and filthy. "How 'bout we get you out of this stuff?" Han says, squeezing his arm. "Can't be comfortable."

Luke shakes his head, just a slow role against the pillow. "Won't come off over the cuff."

The tired, matter-of-fact tone punches right at Han's stomach. "No? I can fix that."

Ten minutes later Han's got Luke stripped out of everything, including the ruined mess of his fatigue jacket which Han just cuts off of him. Han doesn't dare remove the cuff unit because it's got the nerves in Luke's arm suspended, and that's the best chance for Luke to be fully integrated with a prosthesis when they reach the Alliance's medical frigate.

Han helps him clean up and dress in soft pants and an old, sleeveless shirt Luke had left on-board who knew when, and pours him back into the bunk. Or tries to, but Luke catches his hand. "You too," Luke says, and his grip is strong despite the tremor in it.

Han's mouth quirks. "Yeah. Lemme get cleaned up." And he'd say something clever to go along with that but he's fresh out of “clever” at the moment.

Cleaning up is a matter of pitching his own clothes into a corner and maybe three minutes with the sonics, and pulling on an ancient pair of sleep-pants. Han crawls in beside Luke and wraps around him, one arm over his friend's lean chest, and finally relaxes, completely, for the first time since he'd threaded the Imperial needle and gotten Leia away from Hoth.

And his own problems look kinda tiny next to Luke's, but still: sweet gods below, he _hurts_. He'd taken a painkiller himself when he'd set Luke's up, but his nerves still feel like they've been individually scraped with a broken, corroded spoon.

Luke wraps his fingers around Han's forearm and lets out a sigh that sounds like it comes up from his heels. He turns his head so that his hair brushes Han's chin and goes abruptly limp, falling into sleep like it's a cliff he goes over, right into Han's arms. Safe. Han closes his own eyes.

 

 

When he opens them again, it's with a twitch and a jerk. He's been asleep, he's somehow sure, but he's not now. And neither is Luke. His friend's body is too still against his own. Thoughtlessly, Han tightens an arm around Luke's chest, and Luke takes a sudden breath and inches closer.

Something thickens in Han's chest and throat, and he closes his eyes and noses into Luke's hair. Like an ocean swell and every bit as unstoppable, this feeling he hadn't known until not even a day ago – no, be honest, just been too blind to see. It had been there, building quietly in the dark, obscured by Leia's crackling flash but there just the same, shadowed, until …

“Soon as we get you patched up, 'm still kickin' your ass,” he mutters. “Go back to sleep.”

Luke huffs softly, his chest moving beneath Han's arm. “Thanks for the warning.”

Damn it, does he want to talk? “Mean it, Luke. No more stupid no-hope rescues.”

“That go for you, too?”

“Huh?” Okay, he's groggy, but –

“Hoth?” Luke says, voice husky. “You had no chance of finding me. But you did.”

Hells. “Luke ...”

Luke's fingers caress Han's skin in slow, small sweeps. “And you never did tell me what your excuse for that one was, either.”

Smart-ass farmboy. Han buries his mouth in dark blond hair. “Maybe I didn't know 'til now.”

Luke squeezes his arm. “Slow,” he says, singsong, the teasing coming through loud and clear, but his body is relaxing.

Han's isn't. He exhales, ruffling the tangled strands. And he doesn't have a come-back for that even though he should, because it's true. And because it's too close to the bone – if Luke hadn't taken the chance – and Han knows, he _knows_ Luke only took it because he thought maybe there wouldn't _be_ another chance and Han's not thinking about that now because it jams him up somewhere between gratitude and stark, livid fury and he'd really like to go back to sleep.

“Leia come back?” he asks instead, both because he wants to know and because he doesn't know what else he wants to say.

“Don't know; she'd said she wanted to think. I threw her a curve 'n she hates that.” Luke sighs. “I'm ...” Another long breath, warm across Han's skin. “Han, 'm sorry.”

Han's brows pull together. “For what?” Because it's probably not what Luke _ought_ to be sorry for.

“Gettin' between,” Luke says slowly. “Thought it wouldn' matter.”

That takes a few moments to work through Han's weariness, but when it does, every muscle in his back pulls painfully tight and now he's waay more awake than he wants to be. “'Gettin' between' me and Leia,” Han translates, his hands balling into fists because here's the fury, right here, “because you didn't think you'd be around to have to deal with the fallout. _You._ _ **Idiot**_ _._ ”

Luke just sighs again.

Han wants to shake him, wants to smack him, wants to kiss him and strip him naked and hold him so tightly that Han slips right under Luke's skin, the way Luke is already under Han's.

He can do the kissing part, anyway. “You are not 'between' us, for gods' sake, doesn't _anybody_ 'sides me get the concept of plurals?” Han demands, pressing his mouth hard against Luke's temple. “What the krif is _wrong_ with you people, that you all think it's gotta be an either/or thing?” Three years he's known this man. If only one of them had wised up sooner –

“You – were s'rious – then?”

Fucking hell. Han comes up on one elbow, wincing as his insides protest, just enough to see Luke's face, slack with exhaustion, his burst of energy clearly tapped out. “'Course I'm serious, why wouldn't I be?”

“I – don' know how – it'd work.” Luke's picking his words careful and slow. “I love her, but I don' – want her. Like that.”

Han'll have to save the insults about backward, half-civilized dustballs for later, when Luke's awake enough to appreciate them properly. “Ain't like that's a requirement. This works however we want it to work,” Han says softly, and kisses him on the mouth.

Gone as he is, Luke still tries to move up into the kiss. He tastes sleep-sour, and bitter from the painkiller, but that doesn't matter – warmth sparks through Han's belly. Which'd be great if either of them were in any shape to raise more than a smile.

“Rest,” Han murmurs as he fits himself back against Luke's side. He resettles bedclothes over them both, and as he does his arm brushes the edge of the unforgiving metal lying across Luke's waist. Cold slithers up his spine, like some weird sort of premonition. “Rest,” he repeats as Luke's breathing evens back out in slumber, “I got you. 'n I ain't lettin' go.”

 

*

 


	7. Interlude, with Wookie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I had no choice!"

 

Lando leans back into the worn fabric of the _Falcon's_ pilot's seat. He closes his eyes, pressing the heels of his hands into them, and blows out a long breath of air.

“Tired” just does not even begin to cover it.

Flying the _Falcon_ is a little trickier now than it used to be. Years ago, Lando had known this ship like the back of his hand. But the old girl's seen a lot of planets since then, and apparently Han had to make some sort of mod to mark at least half of those landings, probably just because the annoyingly inventive bastard _could_.

On the other hand, Chewbacca's no longer actively trying to kill him, possibly because he did save Luke's ass, so there is that.

Luke Skywalker. Lando hasn't decided exactly what he thinks about what he saw, and heard, just yet. Sweet mother of space …

Lando digs all ten fingers into his hair and opens his eyes again, and stares up at the blessed, blessed hyperlights, and wonders what's happening back on Bespin. The _Falcon's_ transparisteel views could use a wash, same as always, it'd figure that Han wouldn't bother to keep up with that –

A rumble at Lando's right side, an interrogative that translates as close to “Why?” as anything else, and Lando's been expecting it. Wookies have very, very long memories and Chewbacca could always hold a grudge with the best of them, but the big lug also used to give a being a shot at explaining things before he unlimbered the bowcaster.

“He showed up before you did, Chewie, and how the hells he knew you were coming to Bespin, I don't know. Like I said, I didn't have any choice. He had a Star Destroyer full of troops and I had a city full of people – _my_ people – who he was going to start shooting if I didn't go along. All he said he wanted was Luke.”

Lando turns his head to meet Chewbacca's stare. “One being, whom I'd never even heard of, or a city-full of beings I was responsible for. No mention of torturing Han, no bounty hunter. I was just to hold you all until Vader had Luke – that was it. That was the deal.”

<And you trusted him.> Chewbacca's huff is scathing.

Lando sits upright and glares at him. “ _No_ , I did not trust him! Why do you think I set it up for Lobot to get you free you as soon as possible? I never intended to let Vader actually _have_ you, but I had to play along, I had no choice!”

<There is always a choice.>  
  


“Oh, sure.” Lando crosses his arms. “I had a choice. I could have said no, got myself locked up or dead. So then my people would be dead, you and Leia'd probably be dead, Vader would have Luke, and Han'd be a wonderfully decorative block of carbonite on his way to whoever it is that wants his contrary Corellian ass that badly, instead of back there,” Lando jerks his head toward the cockpit door, “with his lovers, just a little worse for wear. So tell me: what would you have done?”

Chewbacca holds Lando's stare for another minute. Then the blue eyes close and he sits back, and lets out a long, grumbling sigh.

Lando's mouth twists. “Well all right, then.” He sits back himself and closes his eyes, and lets the thrum of the hyperdrive sink into his bones.

He's drifting toward sleep when Chewbacca breaks the silence again with a low growl. <They are not his lovers.>

“No?” Lando snorts, not bothering to open his eyes. His mouth twists again, because he remembers exactly what his “old friend” is like. “They're gonna be.”

 

*

 


	8. So Close, And Yet ...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How in the name of the Force is he going to be able to give this up?

Even before he opens his eyes, Luke knows this is going to be the best and worst awakening he's ever had.

Against all logic and reason, he is safe and warm and wrapped up in bed with one of the people he loves most in this galaxy. Han is a long line of heat against him, his bare chest moving against Luke's fabric-covered side in the deep rhythm of sleep.

Because Luke had been in time.

Somehow, he had been in time and Han is here, snoring lightly in Luke's ear instead of being a solid block of carbonite in the belly of a bounty hunter's ship, headed back to pay his debts with his very life, suspended.

And somehow, Han loves him.

Luke had gone in fully resolved to give his own life to keep Han and Leia alive and together, for the love so obvious between them to have a chance. He hadn't expected that Han would give that life back to him.

He'd never expected that Han would love him, too, and in spite of –

A cold thread runs up Luke's spine.

Every breath Luke takes now is full of Han's scent, beloved, familiar with three years of shared dangers and sometimes living quarters as well. Emotions crash like rockfall in Luke's chest, all points and jagged, cutting edges. Everything he's wanted the most is lying here in his arms.

How in the name of the Force is he going to be able to give this up?

Because he is going to have to.

Luke closes his eyes and breathes slow and deep, through the pain in his arm and past it, and opens himself. And the Force is there, vast and vibrant as the first time he'd really felt it, in the passenger lounge of this same ship. It flows around and through him, through everything, calming, dispassionate.

Luke reaches for the faint impressions of his fellow passengers, the way Yoda had been showing him – there. Lando and Chewie, worried and watchful and protective. More clearly, Leia: warmth and strength and spiky unease and yet she's – _comfortable_ to him, almost like she's part of him in some way Luke doesn't understand.

There's so much yet that he doesn't understand, he gets that now.

And Han strongest of all, a brilliant swirl of love and desire and temper over a well of fear that's much, much deeper than his Corellian friend has ever hinted at.

Luke loves him, and Leia, so much.

And he wants nothing more at this moment than to stay here, right here, but unfortunately nature will simply not be denied.

Han stirs when Luke is about halfway through the slow process of extricating himself from both Han and the bedclothes. “Luke?”

“Shh.” Luke gives in to temptation and kisses him on the forehead. “'Fresher.”

“Hmm. Need help?”

That prompts a small, sudden grin. “Not since I was two, but thanks.”

“Ha,” Han grumbles at him, and turns over. “Yell if y' do.”

Luke swallows, caught between sudden laughter and tears. So utterly normal, when nothing is normal anymore. “I will. Be right back.”

He attends to business and realizes almost immediately that if his pants had been a fastener style instead of soft pull-overs, he might well have needed Han's assistance. Looking at the medical cuff makes him queasy, but he sets his teeth and breathes through it. No point in trying to avoid or deny the truth, any more than he can deny the reality of his parentage, as violently as he'd wanted to. You came to terms, you moved on, and you fixed the damage or made the best of it, somehow.

Luke catches sight of himself in the reflecting space of the 'fresher wall, and gives his battered visage a hint of a smile. _There's always a way, you just have to find it._

He's just exited and closed the 'fresher door behind him when there's another step in the short hallway.

“Luke?”

Luke turns, and this smile comes more easily. “Hey.”

Leia hugs him, not as tight nor as frantic as she had after he and Lando had made it aboard the _Falcon_ , but for almost as long. Chewbacca's strength and quick thinking are the only reasons the docking between the freighter and the crippled cloud-car had held for as long as it had, barely enough time for the Wookie to pull them both inside. Chewie had half-carried Luke into the passenger lounge just as Leia had darted out of the cockpit, and the Wookie had given him into her arms. Locked together for a long minute, Leia bracing him against the ship's motion because the grav units never had quite worked the way they should, and whispering his name.

Now as then, Leia eventually pulls away to peer up into his face. “Well, you look better than the last time we did this,” she says, and Luke's somehow unsurprised that she's remembering those same moments. “Cleaner, too,” she adds, a corner of her generous mouth pulling up. Her fingers rise and brush, exquisitely gentle, at the hair over his left eye, where his skin is red and torn. “How're you feeling?”

Pain, shock, euphoria, sadness – all these words apply, along with exhaustion, which is creeping in again fast, and yet none of them come close, not really. When he can't answer, Leia smiles, closed-mouthed and self-mocking. “That good, huh? They're going to put a plaque with your name on it on that bacta tank, at this rate. Let's get you back to bed, you need all the rest you can get.”

Luke loves her so, so much.

“What about you?” he asks and she pauses, her hands on his left shoulder and right elbow. “You should rest too.”

“I did.”

And he knows she has at least tried to, because she's changed out of her dirty jumpsuit into a loose, soft-looking tunic and pants, her hair done in the single long braid he's seen her wear only once or twice before, when he's caught her on the verge of going to bed.

“You should rest with – us,” Luke says softly, because it's important even if he's not at all completely sure _why_ , yet.

Leia catches his almost-stumble on the last word, of course. “Us,” she says, like it's a concept she's still grappling with. Her lashes sweep down. “Luke … ”

“Leia, he loves you.”

She looks back up at him, her dark brown gaze steady, direct and depthless. She's the bravest woman Luke's ever known. “He's _in_ _love_ with you.”

“And with you, too,” Luke says, because _it's_ _important_ , dammit. And thankfully he's too tired to be embarrassed at talking about this kind of stuff, because it gets weirder from here. Or maybe he's just past embarrassment now, period. “And I know you love him. But do you – no, wait,” and he almost, not quite, touches his fingers across her lips as she starts to speak. “The question is, do you love me?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Leia says before the last word completely leaves Luke's mouth, and her fingers grip tight, the small sting a welcome pain among his deeper ones. “ _Yes_. But not like that, not the same – I mean, I don't – I don't want… ”

And she blinks, this woman who is _never_ at a loss for words, and her gaze drops again and Luke watches, bemused and a little amazed, as a hint of color touches her cheekbones.

And suddenly, somehow, Luke knows it's all right. His friends were still tortured and he's still the maimed and battered son of a Sith Lord, but this, at least, is going to be all right.

Luke pulls her close. “That's good,” he says low in her ear, “because I love you too, more than I can say, but I don't want your body either.”

Leia jerks and her head snaps up, beautiful eyes wide. Luke gives her a lopsided, hopefully conspiratorial grin and raised eyebrows, and tilts his head at Han's cabin door. “Now _his_ body, on the other hand ...”

It takes a few moments, but it works. Leia's mouth slowly curves upward, her eyes gaining sparkle in her flushed face. “He really _is_ , isn't he?” she says, in a low, wicked sort of tone that Luke's never heard from her before, and Luke starts to laugh like he hasn't in what feels like a year. Leia joins him, and they're still laughing a minute later when the cabin door opens.

 

*

 


	9. One Brief Shining Moment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _There_ it is. _That's_ why this was important.

Han stares at them for a moment, lips parted. Then he props himself in the doorway and just watches, his eyes narrowed. He's still wearing nothing more than those disreputable sleep-pants, his arms are folded across his bare chest and his hair looks like someone's fingers have just slithered through it. He's stupidly, ridiculously gorgeous, and damned if Luke's body doesn't actually consider making half a try at reacting to that fact.

 

Tucked under Luke's arm, Leia gives a little shiver. “Oh my,” she says.

 

It's a deadly accurate imitation of Threepio and helplessly Luke cracks up again. It's quite possible that there's a touch of hysteria working here too but he doesn't care, it's worth it to hear Leia's rich chuckle joining in, and to see Han begin to smile as well, though he's obviously confused. It's worth it. It's worth everything –

 

“Luke?”

 

“Whoa, kid, steady there.”

 

Leia's still under Luke's left arm and Han has got a firm grip on his right and when did that happen? And his knees don't seem to be all there and Han's a little fuzzy, like he's been drinking. Or Luke has.

 

“C'mon, junior, enough partying for you tonight – ”

 

They gotta find a better brand of booze, though, because it's not working and he aches and things are _moving_ –

 

“ – that's it, one foot in front – Luke!”

 

Han's voice slices through the haze and Luke blinks hard, trying to get his friend's face to come into focus.

 

“Luke, what's wrong?” Leia's voice, not laughing now but sharp-edged. Their concern presses like heat under his skin.

 

“Could be the pain meds, they can get ya like that,” Han says. “You back with us, kid?”

 

Luke blinks again and nods, carefully. Maybe.

 

“All right. Leia, help me get him back to the bunk.”

 

They maneuver him across the floor which seems wider than it had been before, and really, if this is reaction to the pain killers then Luke's swearing off of them for life, no matter what he gets attacked by next.

 

But sitting down is good. Sitting down is great, in fact, as if not having to keep track of his legs frees him up to track other things, and Han's face finally comes clear again.

 

Clear enough to see what Luke hadn't seen before. Han's face is bruised, up by his hairline, hidden: a narrow track of swollen, livid purple, like somebody'd hit him hard.

 

Somebody had.

 

Ice flashes down Luke's spine, clearing the remaining haze instantly.

 

They _had_ , his – his _father_ had, Han had been tortured _just to get to Luke_ , and gods below, he'd not even _asked_ –

 

“Luke?”

 

“You're hurt,” Luke says shakily, staring at the weal, his stomach twisting.

 

Han blinks, his lips parting into question.

 

“Your – ” Luke starts to reach and stops. Because – He swallows. “Forehead.”

 

Leia reaches across and touches Han's chin to turn his face toward her, and now Luke blinks because Leia's fingers trail light. He watches in queasy fascination as she reaches up and the light follows. She lifts gently at Han's hair, the same way she'd brushed at Luke's and _oh, it's not just her fingers …_

 

“Something cracked you good,” she says, and catches her lip momentarily between her teeth. “Skin's not broken, though. What hit you?”

 

… _it's her arm and Han's face … it's everywhere, dizzying ..._

 

Han snorts. “Wasn't exactly takin' notes.” He winces and makes a face, but doesn't pull away. If anything, he leans toward her. “Didn't much feel it 'till now.”

 

“That hard head's an advantage, hm?”

 

… _and their concern, their longing, so strong … close my eyes ..._

 

“Gee, thanks. Thought you were – gonna be nicer?”

 

“I'm thinking about it.” Leia says, her voice warm. “Like I said, you've really got a way – Luke?”

 

… _keep them shut._ “Light … little dizzy.”

 

“'s the meds again. Hang on, I'll run the lights down,” Han says, and the brightness against Luke's eyelids lessens. “How's your stomach?”

 

Luke's mouth spasms in a brief smile. “Taken this stuff before, have you?”

 

“Oh yeah,” and there's a story in Han's voice that Luke wants to hear. Sometime. Maybe.

 

They settle him on the bunk with a couple of pillows or something so he's not laying completely flat on his back and that helps the queasiness. Luke dares open his eyes again, so that when Leia goes to step away, he catches her hand. And doesn't let go. / _Leia, please_./

 

Leia's mouth opens into a small 'o' and Luke knows she's heard him this time, too. Then it quirks in the beginnings of a smile, and she squeezes his fingers before she looks over at Han. “Got room for a third in here?”

 

A soft, hopeful look comes over Han's face. “For you, always,” he says, and there's not a scrap of teasing in his tone.

 

It's a hell of a lot closer than cozy with all three of them, even though the bed's actually kind of luxurious for a starship bunk, but if nobody moves – or sneezes – it will work for a while. Long enough for the living reality to soak through everyone's skin.

 

Leia's fingers are curled again around Luke's, resting over his heart, and she's slender, secure warmth down his right side. She smells almost cool, though; somehow she always does, fresh and light like Luke had been told Alderaan had been like. As if the high altitudes of her world live on because their princess does.

 

She's still unsure, but not of her love for both of them.

 

Han's wrapped himself around Luke from the other side, his arm beneath Luke's head and his other hand lying cupped over both of theirs. He's warm too and solid, earthy strength, and maybe he'd laugh at that description, a man who's chosen to live his life between the stars. He's the second man Luke has loved, and he'll be the last.

 

He's ecstatic and terrified, because as much as he wants this, wants _them_ , he still doesn't truly believe it.

 

A space of quiet as bodies relax, the small sounds of the _Falcon_ , the song of hyperspace a feeling much more than a sound, whispering, whispering … 

 

“I love you, both of you.” Han's voice, just audible. Like some fantastic dream, a low murmur in the sheltering dark. “So much. ”

 

Leia's fingers tighten again around Luke's. “I know,” she whispers, muffled against Luke's shoulder. “I know you do.”

 

_There_ it is. _That's_ why this was important.

 

They'll be all right now, Han and Leia will. No matter what it is that happens to him, in that future he can't see, they will have each other. Luke smiles.

 

 


	10. Nothing As It Seems

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is _**not the way**_ this was supposed to go.

 

 

_Never underestimate the benefits of a good nap and clean clothes,_ Leia thinks, a bit wryly, as she walks toward the surgical bays. Of course, she thinks that every time after a messy mission or a particularly fraught rescue, but it doesn't make it any less true.

 

No immersion tank for Luke after all, it turns out, or not yet. Instead the doctors and medidroids had slapped a lot of bacta on his wounds and eased him into unconsciousness in preparation for the surgery. “To lessen the stress on Commander Skywalker's system,” TooOneBee had said. “Relaxation will increase the chances of a successful integration.”

 

“… _increase the chances ...”_ Like there was a doubt that the prosthesis would be successful …

 

Leia catches the shiver before it starts, and straightens her spine. It _will_ _be_ fully successful. She won't let it be otherwise.

 

It's a long, delicate process that had gotten underway while she slept, and should be close to finished now. And of course there's nothing really that she can do there, other than just be there, but – she has to be there. She needs to.

 

First, though, she needs to check on a scoundrel.

 

Han had escaped the bacta tank as well. Not for any good reason, but because the type of damage a neural disrupter does, used for torture, can't be treated with much of anything other than time, rest, and painkilling drugs and a lot more of the former than the latter.

 

If it _would_ have helped, Leia would have walked him into the tank herself, at blaster-point if necessary. They had been nearly docked with the Alliance fleet before she'd finally discovered how much pain Han was actually in. If Luke hadn't arrived in time and Han had been put into hibernation and the damage that would have caused –

 

Assuming he even survived it.

 

The shiver catches her hard this time and Leia is forced to stop, right there in the corridor, and breathe – just breathe – for a moment. Because it's so incredibly clear, the image of Han's face, a contorted sculpture in smothering grey carbonite –

 

_**Stop** , dammit. It didn't happen._

 

But it feels like it did, somewhere.

 

She needs to see him, warm and breathing, right now. She needs to touch him.

*

 

Leia rather expects to find Chewbacca in Han's med room. Lando Calrissian, however, not so much, and she pulls up short just inside the doorway. “I didn't mean to interrupt – ”

 

“It's all right,” Han says, low-voiced, from his seat on the edge of the bed. “Lando's just leaving.”

 

A look passes between the two men and it's weighted, but not angry, Leia thinks. Lando pulls himself up out of the chair he's been occupying and lays his hand briefly on Han's knee, and Leia – doesn't like that.

 

“Highness,” he says, and inclines his head to her, and is gone, the door hissing closed after him.

 

Leia stares at the metal panel for a minute, considering. A prickling sort of disquiet runs across her skin. “You two've kissed and made up, then?”

 

“Hm. No kissing this time, though.”

 

Well. Leia wheels around and considers Han instead. There's a story she'll have to pry out of him later on. For the moment, she steps in close, and Han obligingly parts his knees so she can stand between them. Like this, they're nearly of a height, and she can take a good, close look at him.

 

Han's dressed in the same white shirt and brown pants, but someone must have run them through the cleaner for him because they're fresher-smelling and far less crumpled. He hasn't bothered tucking the shirt in, though, and his feet are bare, which makes her heart do a strange little thump. He hasn't bothered with more than one shirt fastener, either …

 

She drags her gaze back up and finds him watching her, wearing a softer version of his usual lopsided smirk. “Do I pass muster?”

 

Leia fights her own smile, but not too hard. “Well, I don't know that I'd bring you to any Senate functions … ”

 

“Thank all gods for that.” Han puts his arms loosely around her waist. “You look – diplomatic.”

 

She shrugs, having almost forgotten that she'd thrown on one of her high-necked, hooded gowns. “Work clothes,” she says, framing the words with crooked fingers. “I used to have ten of them; they're easy. You're looking better,” she goes on, peering briefly at the bacta patch covering the deep bruising at his hairline. “Get some rest?”

 

“Some. Not as good as earlier though. On the _Falcon_ ,” Han clarifies when she raises her eyebrows in question, and he gives her a quick squeeze. “Coupla things missing.”

 

Leia tilts her head. “You could not possibly have been comfortable like that, crammed in there with both of us. We could barely breathe, never mind move.”

 

“Not the point,” Han says with a slow shake of his head.

 

His smirk widens a little, and Leia's pretty sure she knows what he's doing and that she's going to let him do it, because she could get to enjoy this, this kind of lightly-charged innuendo, from him. There hasn't been much of it in her life. Lots of fencing, sexual and otherwise, lots of arguing, but not – this. “So – you don't mind having trouble breathing?”

 

Han pauses, and then his smirk becomes a full smile and his eyes light up. “I'm happy to hold my breath for a good cause,” he murmurs, and leans forward.

 

The kiss is long and searching, gentler than the one in the _Falcon's_ corridor what feels like a year ago, but more thorough, rich with desire but lacking the urgency and – desperation, perhaps, that had colored their earlier encounters.

 

When it ends, Han lets out a sigh and rests his chin on her shoulder, and Leia strokes a hand into his hair, and enjoys the novelty of touching him like this. Han's rubbing his fingertips gently at the small of her back, just above her belt. Comforting rather than arousing, as if just holding her, in this moment, is enough.

 

It's wonderful. Leia turns her cheek against his hair and closes her eyes.

 

“How's Luke?” Han asks after a minute or two.

 

“Should be coming out of surgery very soon, that's where I'm headed.”

 

“Good.” He pulls back and kisses her again, just a quick brush of lips. “Lemme get my boots on.”

 

Leia draws breath to speak, and stops. That prickling disquiet is back, creeping up her spine.

 

Han eyes her. “You're not gonna say something dumb like 'you should be resting', are ya?”

 

Leia steps back and crosses her arms, and eyes him right back. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

 

Han flashes her a grin and eases off the bed, retrieving boots and socks and sitting in the room's lone chair to put them on. But he glances up at her first and he must see something in her face, because he stills. “He'll be fine, he always bounces back. People get limbs replaced all the time, y'know.”

 

“Yes, I know. It's not that. What were you and Lando talking about?”

 

Han straightens and his expression closes off, his gaze sliding away and she _knew_ there was something, dammit. “Han.”

 

“You ain't gonna like it.”

 

“Obviously! What – ” and it hits her with a jolt. “You're leaving. You are _still planning to leave.”_

 

Han blows out a hard breath. “There's still a price on my head.”

 

Leia waves that away. “There's a price on all our heads – ”

 

“Not like this, your Worshipfullness.” In less than a blink, the Han of the last few days is gone. This is the smuggler. “For you, and Luke? That's just the Empire. For me?” Han's smile has a sharp, manic edge. “It's Jabba the Hutt – and that's a whole 'nother game altogether.”

 

This is the man who's lived – who has _chosen_ to live – for at least the last decade by shady deals, quick wits, a fast ship and a faster gun.

 

“The credits on my head, and Chewie's, would buy half the Fleet. Hells, with Fett dead, it might've gone up again.”

 

“Han – ”

 

“Leia, come on,” Han says, his voice lowering into a reasonable tone that she hates immediately. “Think about this. That kinda money, somebody else is gonna take a shot at me and I don't want you, or Luke,” a hint of a tremor, “close when it happens.”

 

And that – hurts. That Han doesn't trust her and Luke to protect him. That they don't mean enough to him to –

 

“'sides, you've got this Rebellion covered, you and Luke. You don't need me.”

 

“I do need you!” It pours from her before she can begin to stop it. “ _We_ need you, here, with us! How much use are you out there somewhere?”

 

“More use than I'll be close up and dead,” Han says flatly.

 

Something inside her that had just begun to build, cracks.

 

Leia draws herself up and pulls royal dignity around herself like armor, the way she'd learned to when she'd been very young. “I am going to see Luke. I trust you can find your own way there. We _will_ talk about this later.”

 

“Leia!”

 

But she is already out the door, with her best unreadable expression clamped into place, holding down the burning in her throat and the stinging in her eyes. If she's not being reasonable about this? Fine. She doesn't care. This is _**not the way**_ this was supposed to go.

 

So much for love.

 


	11. Another Interlude, With Wookie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Never give hostages to fortune._

  


  


Han stares open-mouthed at the door, then lets his boots thud to the floor and slumps back in the chair. “How can she _not see?”_ he demands of the ceiling before he closes his eyes and blows out a long, hard breath. **Damn** the woman.

  


_Leia …_

  


It rears up again behind his eyelids, the sight of Luke in Leia's arms. Battered, torn. Maimed. The agony on Leia's face as she'd held him.

  


Han swallows around the jagged thing lodged in his throat. Because all that? Is kriffin' small change next to what Jabba's hired scum will do to Luke, will do to Leia, if they've caught wind of what these two mean to Han.

  


And it will be Han's fault.

  


“ _Never give hostages to fortune,”_ he hears his old mentor say, in that horrible raspy voice, from the depths of years past. _“People find ya out? They got ya by the short hairs.”_

  


And now Han has not one hostage, but three.

  


A questioning growl from the doorway.

  


“C'mon in,” Han growls back. “And shut the door.”

  


Chewbacca does so and leans back against the doorframe, dwarfing it, as he does to most things built for standard human scale. <The little one has just left, moving quickly, and there is trouble on your face. These things are related.>

  


Han eyes his partner sourly. “Don't know why you'd say that.”

  


Chewie hoots at him in sceptical amusement, and folds his massive arms across his chest. He looks like the monolith that he is – a hairy, immovable pillar propping up Han's tilted life.

  


One of Han's three hostages.

  


Yeah, but Chewie can handle just about anything. Beings that take aim at the big furball tend to wind up fairly flat and very dead, and he's been watching Han's back for years now, same as Han watches his. Nah, Chewie's good. It's those other two …

  


Chewie sniffs. <You are worried.>

  


“She guessed what I was talking to Lando about.” Han sits up and reaches for his socks again. And won't it be nice when his insides stop aching every time he moves? “She knows we're leaving, and she ain't being any more reasonable about it now than she was on Hoth.”

  


<You should have settled with the Hutt years ago.>

  


“I _know_ that,” Han snaps. Know-it-all and subtle as a rock, whole damn Wookie race is like that.

  


But his partner has learned a thing or two over the years, like when to shift tracks. <We will see the sand-cub first.>

  


“Of course we will.” Han yanks up the second sock and stops, his breath shortening. Luke.

  


_Luke …_

  


The way Luke felt in his arms, shorter than Han but lithe and incredibly strong, a lifetime of farmwork and whatever mystical Jedi training he'd been off at packing him solid with wiry muscle. That brilliant smile and that stubborn insistence on looking for good in everybody, Han included, and the way the kid still seems to smell of dust and sand, even three years and half the galaxy later. The _taste_ of him …

  


<Han.>

  


Han blinks, and swallows, and reaches for a boot. “Yeah?”

  


<You will still not ask them along?>

  


Han puts his foot down hard, to get the boot to settle, of course. “ _No_ I will not, are you _crazy?_ Take the two of them anywhere near Jabba? They're like kriffin' babes in the crèche.”

  


<They have both become skilled warriors,> and Chewie's rumble holds a little disapproval of Han's attitude. <Particularly Luke, whose home that was – >

  


“Not next to Jabba's type of scum, they ain't, that lot's all fangs and poison – ”

  


< – and it is not like you to leave a new lover, or lovers, in this way.>

  


Han stops dead, both now-booted feet flat on the floor, as the word lances into him like the sharpest, sweetest pain imaginable. Lovers.

  


It's a few moments before he can answer. “They aren't,” he says, his voice thick in his throat. “Lovers.”

  


Chewbacca steps over to him and crouches down, which puts him nearly on Han's level. <They are, for you,> he woofs gently, <whether you have fucked yet or not.>

  


Han has to swallow again before any more words will come. “Smelled that out, did'ja?”

  


<It was obvious even to Lando.>

  


“Oh, great.” Han rolls his eyes. That's all he needs. He breathes deep and pushes it back out, and meets familiar blue eyes.

  


“Fett was there for _me_ , partner. He must have been with the Imps around Hoth, and he somehow managed to track us. 'S the only way I can see that Vader and company would guess we'd try for Bespin, if Fett knew about Lando. They used me – us – to get to Luke.” His jaw hardens. “That ain't happening again. You saw what the kid did there in Cloud City, _against_ _Vader_ , for gods' sake. You think he'd hesitate trying somethin' crazy on Jabba? And if that slimy slug ever got a look at _Leia_?”

  


Han shakes his head. “Lando's fine, he can take care of himself and besides, he owes me. But those two? Don't get within twenty systems of Tatooine, if I got anything to say about it.”

  


Chewie's not done with this argument, Han can tell, but he lets it go for now. <You and I and Lando will stalk the fangs and poison, then,> and there's the anticipation of a hunt rolling beneath his growl.

  


“Oh, yeah.” Han smiles grimly. “It's way past time to start pulling some teeth.”

  


*


	12. This Crude Matter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He is becoming – something else.

(edited 12.17.16)

Luke watches with detached interest as the medidroid surgeon, TooOneBee, begins to remove the tissue regenerators and bacta dressings from the join in his right arm, the place where flesh and blood and bone now flow almost seamlessly into synthskin and circuitry and metal. The droid had assured him that it would not hurt once Luke's own body fully integrated with the cybernetics and it had been correct, it didn't hurt … exactly.

Not that Luke had actually asked about that, because it didn't really matter. It would hurt or it wouldn't: a being got used to pain, after all, whether physical or emotional. Or perhaps it's more that Luke doesn't feel like he is all the way back in the present, yet, courtesy of the surgery drugs. There is still something of a veil between himself and everything else and he's lost a day, he thinks, between the operation and now.

He curls the fingers of his left hand, rubbing thumb over fingertips, and wonders vaguely if his “new” fingers will register sensation in the same way, that of flesh against flesh. Leia had been there when Luke had awoken the first time, but the next time he'd surfaced it had been Han, and it was Han who'd held Luke's hand, his left hand, for much of last “ship's” night.

The sense-memory warms Luke's skin, parting the veil a bit. A smile curves his mouth at the thought of the fit the nursing-droid had probably thrown about Han's refusal to leave, because he's pretty sure he remembers Han's deep voice threatening death and dismantlement at least once.

What he _knows_ he remembers is the mental embrace, the emotional blanket of love and desire and protectiveness that Han had wrapped him in, all unknowingly. So incredibly strong – if Luke had ever had any doubts about Han's true feelings for him, those hazy hours had silenced them for good.

But there had also been muted anger and a great sadness, and the hopeless need to be in two places at once. It wasn't that Han was considering doing something; no, he'd already made up his mind. But the necessity was cutting him deeply.

It's a feeling Luke understands a lot better than he'd have chosen to.

“The regeneration and healing are progressing well,” TooOneBee says, and Luke blinks back to the present. “Do you experience pain here?” The tool in the droid's metal hand probes the join with a very fine pressure.

“Not pain exactly, no.”

“But you do feel something there.”

“Yes.”

“That is good. Please attempt to close your right hand now, but do not be distressed if the motions are not smooth or complete. The integration proceeds at the human body's pace, and cannot be accelerated in the same way that other healing processes can be.”

Huh. “And why is that?” Luke asks, only about half-curious, as he makes his first ventures at moving his new fingers and palm and discovers that, as predicted, their actions are neither smooth nor complete.

“We do not know,” TooOneBee says. That does catch Luke's attention. “What is known is that to accelerate the integration causes the human patient additional and sometime permanent pain in approximately eighty-four percent of similar cases, even when the integration is otherwise completely successful.”

The droid continues its inspection and testing but Luke isn't really seeing it now, because something about what TooOneBee has just said is important. Luke _feels_ it, almost like a tremor in the Force. He just doesn't know _w_ _h_ _y_ , yet.

“Luke?”

Her voice threads into his introspection, and Luke turns his head as Leia appears in the doorway to the medroom and comes up to the side of his bed. Her hair is piled up in back this morning and she's wearing a pale top and trousers, high-necked and long sleeved, and a soft smile, and Luke smiles back. And pauses. Because she looks better, but – not, somehow.

“How is it coming?” she asks.

TooOneBee answers before Luke can put words together. “The regeneration and healing are progressing well, Highness,” it repeats, and something in Leia relaxes, but not completely. TooOneBee continues but Luke isn't listening this time. His brows pull together as her unease penetrates.

Leia's gaze brushes his arm where it is strapped to the exam board and darts away again, and then Luke understands. Of course it makes her uneasy. He's not whole anymore. He is becoming – something else. A thread of cold curls in Luke's stomach. He should have expected this, really. It's certainly not Leia's fault.

“How are you feeling?” she asks, and it's her hand brushing his other arm now, her fingers curling around Luke's left wrist.

“Fuzzy?” Luke offers. Another smile curves Leia's generous mouth, and she tilts her head to peer into his face. “Things are still a little – distant.”

“To be expected,” Leia says. “You look better, though, not so pinched around the eyes.”

“Not being in pain is good for that,” Luke says wryly.

“You’re not hurting now?”

“Not as such. Leia … ” He wonders for a moment how to say it, before deciding what the hells. Because it does hurt that she’s uncomfortable, and he doesn’t want anything between them. “I know – I feel – that it bothers you. I’m sorry.”

“It?” Leia’s fine brows pull together.

Luke tilts his head briefly at his new right hand, being released from the exam board now by TooOneBee.

Leia’s gaze follows the motion, and then her eyes go wider. “Your hand? Why would you think that?”

“You’re – it’s making you – uneasy.”

Leia’s mouth drops open, before her expression clears. “Luke, no. That doesn’t make me uneasy, it makes me _furious!_ That it happened, that he – _did that_ to you.” She squeezes his wrist. “That you’ve been hurt like this,” she finishes in a low voice, and he watches her reach over and lay her left hand, lightly, over his right.

And Luke's breath goes in hard because he _feels_ that, her skin against his “skin”. Not in exactly the same way, but he _does_ feel her. “Leia – ”

“It changes _nothing_ ,” she says, soft and fierce, and the wave of her love rocks him. Her fingers grip his chin and practically drag his gaze back to meet her bright brown eyes. “Not in how I feel about you. How _could_ it?”

Leia’s fingers slip from his chin to the back of his neck, and Luke wraps his left arm around her waist and hugs her tightly. He’d had no clue just how much he needed to hear that until exactly this moment.

“Idiot,” Leia says, fondly, right into his ear, and Luke laughs, which catches him by surprise because laughter had been pretty far down on the agenda just a minute ago.

The next three things happen all at once.

“Please refrain from contact or extended pressure to Commander Skywalker's hand, Highness,” TooOneBee intones, “the healing process at this time – ”

Leia mutters something beautifully uncomplimentary about droids, and –

“Started without me, huh?” Han says from the doorway.

Leia stiffens in Luke’s embrace, all her unease roaring back, and – oh. It’s not Luke at all. Something else is wrong, something –

“Were you invited?” Leia returns, her voice cool –

– something between Leia and Han.

 


	13. The End of the Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “May the Force be with you.”

“Personally hand-delivered ticket, in fact,” Han retorts and his voice holds its usual cheerful swagger, but Luke sees Han's eyes as Leia stands up and straightens away, and they tell a different story.

“How'ya doing, kid?” Han puts himself right up next to Luke's side, one hip on the bed, and there's challenge all over the outside of him, as if everything he'd ever learned about dealing with Leia has gone straight out the airlock.

The inside of him, though – the inside aches, soul and body.

And Luke loves the man, beyond all sense and possibly beyond reason as well, but he’s in no shape to mediate between Han and Leia. “Recovering,” he answers, smiling at Han. “You?”

“Good as ever.” Which is as close to a flat-out lie as Han's ever told him. “Lemme see the new digits.”

Han reaches across and picks up Luke’s cybernetic hand and again comes that wash of “sensation,” and Luke swallows. Han holds Luke’s hand in both of his, his grip sure but gentle. A menacing glare from hazel eyes silences the medidroid’s protests and then Han lifts the hand close.

“Be careful,” Leia bites out.

“I’m always careful,” Han returns absently, all his attention on Luke.

He examines the new appendage with the particularly concentrated focus usually reserved for intricate bits of the _Falcon_. Finally, he traces the edges of the join and the access panel with one finger but in the air only, not touching. “Ace job,” he says, warm breath tingling Luke’s arm. “I only see it ‘cause I’m looking for it.” The slightest tightening of Han’s fingers. “You feel me?”

“Yeah.” A burst of something, maybe laughter again, catches in Luke’s throat.

Han looks up sharply. “Too much?”

“No.” Luke shakes his head. “Just – you’re acting like it’s – part of me.”

Both of Han’s eyebrows rise. “It’s attached, ain’t it? I’d say that qualifies.”

Han is utterly matter-of-fact, and Luke hadn’t had any idea just how much he’d needed to hear _that_ , too. He swallows again and nods, and looks at where they touch, Han cradling Luke’s hand in his own two like it’s nothing unusual and yet something very precious, somehow, at the same time.

“Hey.” Han's voice is soft but more than enough to draw Luke’s gaze back. “You’ll be better than new. In fact, you’ll have a grip that’ll probably give Chewie a run for the money.”

<Or not,> Chewbacca hoots, coming through the doorway right on cue. <You are healing, sand-cub?>

And the gang’s all here. Luke has to smile. “I’m getting there, Chewie.”

<That is good,> Chewbacca says. He reaches over Han and ruffles Luke’s hair, and then ruffles Han’s for no reason other than that Han is there, apparently. Han grimaces and swats half-heartedly at his partner, who just rumbles in laughter.

The byplay brings a twist of a smile to Leia's face as well and she's not _angry_ with Han exactly, Luke realizes: she's hurt, and frightened. Which on Leia is frequently damn close to the same thing.

“Commander Skywalker requires an additional rest period of no less than twenty-four standard hours,” TooOneBee says officiously, breaking into the moment. Han lays Luke's hand down gently and turns his grimace on the droid instead, but Leia's crisp tones interrupt.

“We were just leaving, weren't we, Han?” Brown eyes catch and challenge Han before she looks at Luke. “Soon as you're able, we need to talk about your next assignments, after your therapy's done and you're cleared for action,” she says, warm but brisk, and she puts her hand on Luke’s knee. “Command will want to re-cert you for some things, I'm sure, even though it won't – ”

“Leia.” Luke breaks into her flow as gently as he can, because this is best done right now. She's going to absolutely hate it, but there's no other choice. Half-trained as he is, he’s a danger to them all. “I have to return to Dagobah.”

Leia's eyes go wide, and then dangerously narrow. “When?” she bites out.

Next to him, Han goes completely still.

Luke curls the fingers of his new right hand into a loose ball. “As soon as the medics release me.”

“So you're both – again – ah!” Leia stalks over to the big viewport on the far side of the room and stares out at the fleet and the bright coil of the galactic plane beyond them, hands on her hips and every line of her stiff.

Both?

_So_ _ **that’s**_ _it._ Luke looks at Han who is looking at Leia's rigid back. _But this wasn’t what I saw …_ _was it?_

“Aaand we're back where we started,” Han says quietly. “I've got a showdown that I gotta face, kid, 'n it's a good three years overdue. 's where I was heading from Hoth, before – all this, and I'm not puttin' it off any longer. They used us – they used _me_ , the price on _my_ head, to help them get to you.” Han glances sideways at Luke before looking at Leia again, and his jaw sets in a hard line. “That's not happening again.”

“That's why you need to stay with us!” Leia spins around. “Surrounded with Rebellion fighters, you'll be – ”

“Safe?” Han is shaking his head. “I won't be. Bounty hunter on Ord Mantell, remember? And you're talking now about me doing what – hiding in the Command Center? That ain't me. Leia,” he says as she opens her mouth. “C'mon.”

“So that's it? You don't think enough of us to believe we can protect you?”

“I think entirely _too damn much_ of both of you, that's the problem.”

Leia's face goes hard. “Oh, it's a ‘problem,’ is it?”

“ _Leia_.” Han takes a deep breath, battling his temper with a near-tangible white-knuckle grip, and Luke feels it like heat-flush under his own skin. “I _have_ to go.”

“Then I'm going with you – ”

“You kriffin' well are not!”

“You need – ”

“ _They_ need you here and _I_ need you safe! _It_ _ain't me I'm protecting!”_ Han shouts, his temper winning.

Leia gulps a sharp breath and pulls up, and glares at him.

“ _Leia_ ,” Han repeats, and gets hold of himself with visible effort, deadly serious in a way Luke's rarely seen him. “You know I'm right.”

“Well, I don't want you to be right!” she snaps, and turns her back on both of them.

Han shoves out a long breath and gets to his feet, and walks up behind Leia, his boot-heels thudding dully on the deckplates. He's maybe two feet from her when she turns again, sharply, one fist in the air.

Han stops, hands at his sides, and just looks at her.

Their tangled emotions press in around Luke's lungs, fire and ice, love and pain, all of them sending a cool rill up his spine. Behind him, Chewbacca makes a low, untranslatable sound.

Leia steps into Han’s space, her expression some parts fury and something else, and her fist is still in the air until she thumps Han's chest with it, once, twice. Again. And then her eyes close and she slumps forward, fist still against Han's shirt and her own forehead coming to rest against her hand, and Han wraps his arms around her.

The tensions snap and flow like some kind of impossible brittle liquid, heavy and sharp-edged as Han bends his head and whispers in Leia's ear. She shakes her head, but her arm goes around him in return and pulls tight, muscle outlined beneath her sleeve.

His lungs still feel constricted but Luke has his legs off the bed already, gaining his feet as Han looks over at him and reaches out one hand. Luke takes it and becomes the third strand in their tight human knot, Han’s hand in his and Leia’s arm snug around his waist.

“I thought you’d be staying here, Luke.” Han rasps the words out against Luke's temple, his mouth warm on Luke's skin.

Luke squeezes his eyes shut. “I have to go back and finish training. I know now how much I don’t know.” _And how dangerous that is. How dangerous_ _ **I**_ _am._ “I promised I’d return when you two were safe.”

“Safe,” Leia spits out, muffled, and it sounds like a curse.

“Leia – ”

“No, stop. I know. I _know_.” Leia tilts her head back far enough to see him. “But I _don’t_ have to like it and _**I don't**_ , not one damn bit. How long will it take?” she demands.

“I don't know – ”

“And why can’t your teacher come to us? For that matter, _why won’t he help_ _us?”_

And Luke can’t say how he knows that answer, but he does. “He won’t leave Dagobah,” he says, shaking his head. “And he’s – ancient. I don’t know how much longer he has.”

Leia makes a sound like pure frustration. “And _you_ ,” she says, jabbing a finger into Han's chest. “ _How long?”_

Han's looking at her like he's memorizing her face. “I've gotta set it up, some kinda sting,” he says, still raspy. “Can't just walk in and pay Jabba now, the fat slug's pride is hurt and he'll lose face if he lets it go after this long. At least a standard month or more.”

“Then that's what you've got,” Leia says, and she's looking up at Han in the same way he's looking at her but her voice is like hardening durasteel. “And you _will_ check in. Both of you. Regularly. _Whatever_ you have to do to make that happen.”

Han opens his mouth but Chewbacca's growled affirmative cuts him off.

“Because if either of you don't, I will come after you, I promise you that. _**I**_ _**will**_ come after you.” Leia's glance gathers Luke in on the statement, and there's not a fraction of give in her tone. It's not a threat – it's just simple, blunt fact.

Han's mouth twitches at the corners but he doesn't smile, just leans down and kisses her hard. When she lets him go, he looks at Luke, and there's a question in his eyes.

“What she said,” Luke says softly.

And Han – doesn't quite believe it.

Doesn't know _how_ to believe this promise now any more than he'd truly believed that they both loved him when they'd all lain together for those few precious hours, crowded into Han's bunk aboard the _Falcon_.

And Luke's not surprised, but it still hurts, even though he _feels_ the conflict at Han's core: whatever Han's mind tells him, the battered and abandoned child in his heart is terrified, convinced by brutal evidence that no human will ever keep a promise like that because no human ever has.

Never mind that Luke has already – albeit unwittingly – done almost exactly that.

Nothing Luke can say at this moment – nothing Leia can say – is going to convince Han, truly convince him, deep down, that he is worth that much to them.

So Luke leans up and kisses him because that's all he can do now, what he has to do, as if he can pour his own certainty, pour _himself_ , into Han. / _I will_ _ **always**_ _come for you_ _./_

Han kisses him back, hard and deep, and his fingers tighten around Luke's almost as if he'd heard that.

Far too soon, though, Han breaks the kiss and pulls away, and takes part of Luke's soul with him. Luke only just claws back the urge to drag Han right back because something doesn't feel right. Or rather it _does_ feel right, in the same stomach-turning way that discovering his parentage felt right, that dropping everything to go to Bespin felt right, and of course both of those things have turned out so very, very well.

“I'll – be in touch,” Han says, his voice rough. He takes a step back and another, until he's no longer touching them and their knot of three rips apart.

“You're leaving _now?”_ Leia asks, her voice tight and her shoulders tighter against the inside of Luke's arm.

“Right now. The _Falcon's_ ready; no point in waiting. Sooner I'm gone, sooner I'll be back, right?” The curve of Han's mouth tries to be a smile and misses by a good lightyear.

“Exactly,” Leia says. She takes a breath and pulls herself straight and still, and in over three years of brave acts Luke has seen her do, this might be the bravest yet because her scream is practically echoing in his head. “Clear skies, Han.”

It takes everything Luke has to match her. “May the Force be with you,” Luke says, and for a miracle his voice does not shake. “And Han? Don't make us keep that promise, all right?”

Han's smile this time cuts into Luke's chest like a knife, because it's the careless, reckless, daredevil smuggler's grin. “Hey, it's me. Nothin'll go wrong. I'll be back before you know it.”

And Luke's stomach begins to roil as Han leaves, Chewie brooding at his shoulder, as Leia starts to shake – because something _is_ going to go wrong, and more than that.

Something is going to open doors and put them all through deepest, darkest hell and back before they all three of them touch each other again.

 

*

*

*

**Author's Note:**

> Wanted a break from my ongoing fic projects and asked my darling culturevulture73 if she'd get me some prompts from her tumblr buds. When will I learn?
> 
> Tags will be added on-going, if and when more chapters creep out.
> 
> Chapter One: Empire Strikes Back - The one where Luke figures out the family secret himself from the clue of Yoda's “tree of evil”, arrives on Bespin earlier, and does something they may all regret. Prompt from ribbonedcuriosa: “I will knock you on your ass if you even think about it.”


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